Unwanted
by Jacinda
Summary: A piece to follow the last scenes where Sara was watching the video tapes in Down the Drain. "Unwanted circumstances had given way to something that I never imagined wanting, but I know it is something that I never want to give up."(NS)-- Finished
1. Default Chapter

I sit frozen in my chair. It's three hours passed the end of my shift. The television in the only thing illuminating the room. I sit watching videos of a family so happy in their dysfunctional world. Values and morals are passing from generation to generation. This father passed on the art of bomb making. His son would murder another young man. His wife was so brainwashed that she would cover it up to prevent another beating. This was a family.

I have vague memories of my parents as hippies. Free love; no five year old should understand that their parents had sex with strangers that they would meet at 'parties.' No five year old should be witness to how marijuana is grown. I remember my mother teaching me how to water the plants. It was my job to water the plants before supper. I never thought that it was wrong; I was too young to question the authority of the two people I was supposed to love and respect.

I learned about drugs in fifth grade. I was still watering the plants before supper. It was a small garden; probably only enough for the two of them. I remember shaking as I stood at the payphone. I was ten years old. I remember calling the police. I told their secret. I wasn't supposed to tell their secret. They told me that the plants were special. Someday I would understand how 'special' their plants were. I went to my friend's house after school; the police came for me three hours later.

I was playing with Barbie dolls. My mother wouldn't let me have those in the house. She always said that they represented a sexuality that was unrealistic. I wanted so badly to be Barbie doll. Barbie had no problems. She had an endless closet of clothes, three cars, a dream house, and a doting boyfriend that supported her endless careers. I wanted so badly to fall into Barbie's reality.

My father could never hold down a job. He worked so many different jobs; short order cook, janitor, and the manager of a fast food restaurant. I knew that we were poor. There was a sharp class distinction even in first grade. I remember the other girls making fun of my tattered clothes and worn sandals. I remember the boys never chased me. It was hard to be aware of your place in the world at such a young age; you're helpless to change your circumstances.

I was in foster care for six months. I was in a home with a young couple. Tom worked as a police officer. He let me sit in the driver's seat of his squad car. Karen became a stay at home mom the minute I set foot in their house. She baked cookies for me after school. I had never had a homemade cookie before. I felt bad that I didn't miss my parents. I was supposed to miss my parents.

I became a better student. Karen and Tom praised every one of my little triumphs. When I won the school spelling bee, they took me out for pizza. When I needed a science fair project, the three of us made a volcano. We went out for seafood that night. We laid a blanket out on the lawn. Karen told me about the constellations. I wanted to be their child.

I asked once why they didn't have children. Karen cried. Tom said that God just wasn't on their side. I told them that I wished I was their child. Karen said that she loved me like a daughter. Tom said that he wished I could be theirs. Two weeks later, child services came to bring me back to my parents and their dirty little home. I cried for Karen and Tom. I hoped that they cried for me.

My parents decided to open a bed and breakfast. They worked hard. I never smelt marijuana in the house again. All the bad memories were covered by fresh coats of paint; it made the dirty house into a majestic Victorian. My mom cooked. She had never cooked for me before. I made cookies; I made Karen's cookies . . . I had the recipe memorized.

I was fifteen. My parents went out on the town for the night. I was left to fulfill the requests of the two couples staying at the B and B. I was reading my science text. I was in one of the sitting areas. He came up behind me . . . told me that I was a very pretty girl. He raped me in my own home. I sat in the shower for hours trying to wash him off of me. I told my mother; she said that I knew I wasn't supposed to be studying in the public areas. Nothing more was ever said.

Parents are funny things; you're supposed to love them and respect them without questioning. In turn, they are supposed to love and protect you. Grissom says it is biological. I'm not so sure. The only people that loved me that much didn't share my DNA.

I still send Christmas cards. Karen got pregnant shortly after I left. There were so many times I wanted to go back to them, but they got their child. There was no place in the world for a child that wasn't wanted. My parents didn't pretend that they wanted a baby girl when they were both still teenagers. They only married because my maternal grandfather forced them to. I knew that I wasn't wanted.

At least that boy got to know that his father loved him; even if it was the most dysfunctional love possible.

"Sara, it's time to go. I heard about the bomb . . . why would you do something so stupid?" Nick asked. I was so engrossed in the movies that I couldn't think of a clever lie.

"Have you ever felt worthless?" I asked. Nick turned off the television. It brought me back to reality. I was uncomfortable in my reality; I was just as uncomfortable in my memories.

"Sara, what's this about?" he asked. Nick rested a hand on my thigh.

"Do you want this baby?" I asked solemnly.

"Of course I want this baby, Sara," Nick replied irritated that I would even ask.

"We were both drunk. What do we tell him when he's older?" I asked.

"I don't know. I thought we agreed to take things slow. Sara, I'm not going anywhere," Nick replied. I knew he wouldn't go anywhere. Nick was a good guy; he was dependable.

I was driving home from his townhouse when I was pulled over. We went there after having breakfast with Warrick. I don't know what possessed me to take Nick up on his offer for coffee. He said that I needed to unwind after the rape case. We ended up having whiskey instead of coffee. I ended up in bed with him. I woke before he did. I would have done anything to escape his townhouse. There was still enough alcohol in my body to make me feel woozy; I shouldn't have gone anywhere. I snuck out without waking him. I was hoping that we would both forget about the morning before we were back on shift. Two friends had crossed a boundary that would make everything different from that day forward.

Three weeks later, I missed my period. All my fears were realized. I could barely take care of myself . . . let alone a child. I sat alone in a doctor's office waiting for the news. I cried when the doctor told me that I was pregnant. I called in sick before I called Nick. I wasn't sure if I could face him at work. I took the coward's way out. He took the night off and wound up on my doorstep.

I didn't know what to say to him. I had spent hours thinking about my family; the role models that I had. I was afraid to becoming my parents. Two people living together with a child that they didn't want. He said that it was alright. We would figure things out as they come up. I didn't want this child to be unwanted. I didn't want this child to carry the same burdens I carry.

"I'm not having the baby," I said without thinking.

"Sara, can't we go somewhere to talk about this?" Nick asked. He was so patient with me. I wasn't showing yet; I could make this go away before everyone knew. I wasn't sure if I was comfortable taking the life of another; I wasn't sure if I could give up my best friend's baby.

"Nick, you have no idea what it's like not to be wanted," I replied bitterly. I could feel the tears running down my face. Not being wanted was the story of my life; Hank, Grissom.

"Let's not talk about this here," Nick said as he handed me tissues.

We wound up at his townhouse. I was uncomfortable there; there were too many bad memories. He was quiet. He didn't want to be the one to have to talk first. I didn't want to be the one to have to rationalize my brash decision.

"My parent didn't want me; I spent six months in foster care. I was raped in my own home by some vacationing yuppie that my parents welcomed into my home," I said quickly. His expression changed. I could see the tears in his eyes. I could never understand why he let himself feel so much; feeling hurt way too much.

"I don't know how to be a mother," I whispered.

"You wouldn't have to do this alone," Nick weakly offered.

"I can't have a baby that's not wanted . . . it's not fair to him," I replied.

"It's not fair to him," Nick replied, "I'm sorry, Sara. If it meant that we could still be friends, I would do anything to take back that night."

"I know," I replied. I couldn't even look at him.

"That night . . . I was going to ask you to go out to dinner with me some night," Nick said.

"I was going to let you kiss me good night," I replied, "The fates were against that."

"Let me know what you decide," Nick replied.

"Yeh, I'll call you," I replied as I stood up and headed for the door.

"Sara, would you go out to supper with me sometime?" Nick asked as I was half way out the door.

"I don't know if I can," I replied. I closed the door gently behind me. I drove home in silence. I needed to be alone with my thoughts; even if my thoughts sickened me.

My world would come crashing down around me three weeks later. I'll never forget the night. I was working in trace evidence. I was standing up to get a good look at the contents of the vacuum bag that I had confiscated from a crime scene. I remember the sharp pain. I remember feeling light headed. I remember the warmth between my legs. I sat on the floor of the bathroom sobbing for an hour before anyone thought to look for me.

Greg drove me to the hospital without asking any questions. He called Grissom and said that I had gotten sick; I needed to go to the emergency room so he drove me. I let Greg wait in the examination room with me. I already knew that I had miscarried. I didn't need a doctor to confirm the obvious. Greg asked how far along I was . . . ten weeks. I struggled with this decision for six weeks and this was how it would end. Greg said that he was sorry. Greg asked if there was anyone that he should call. I said it could be taken care of later.

The doctor couldn't give me answers. He reassured me that I wasn't my fault. He asked Greg to take me home . . . Greg should take his wife home to rest. The doctor told me not to work for a few days. He wrote up some form for me to give to Grissom. Greg needed to provide him with all the information; all the words were caught in my throat or racing through my mind.

Greg took my back to the lab so I could get my things. Night shift was ending when we got there. Greg said I looked pale. I wobbled and swayed as I walked. I needed to cling to him to keep myself from falling to the ground. Grissom asked what happened; there was a sizable amount of blood in the bathroom. He asked to see my wrists. He made me remove my watch and roll up my sleeves. Grissom thought that I had tried to commit suicide. I told him that I had just miscarried. He told me to take some time off; he didn't spare another word for me.

Greg told me that it would be okay. He would drive me home. He never asked who the father was; I knew the question was on the tip of his tongue. Greg was so good to me. I gathered my things.

We bumped into Nick, Warrick and Catherine as we were trying to escape the building. I still clung to Greg . . . I was feeling fainter. The way they looked at me; Grissom obviously had made it clear that he thought I had attempted suicide in the bathroom at the crime lab. Good news always circulates quickly.

They couldn't look me in the eye. They barely made it out of the way when I doubled over and threw up in the parking lot. Greg told them that I had lost a lot of blood . . . that I was weak. He told them that I didn't try to commit suicide. I showed them my wrists. They didn't understand. Catherine's critical eye surveyed my body. Warrick and Nick walked away. I began to cry again. I whispered to Catherine that I had just lost my baby. I had just lost the one thing that was really mine. Greg drove me home.

I stayed in my apartment for three weeks. I spent most of my time curled up in bed. Only Greg stopped by. Grissom called several times saying that he put me on a leave of absence; I needed to call him. I called Nick once; he never called me back. I tried to explain that the rumors weren't true. I said that I wished I would have gone out for supper with him some night.

I finished the bottle of whiskey. I rested my head against the armrest of my couch. I closed my eyes. I always knew what it felt like to be unwanted.


	2. Nick's POV

I never thought I would be afraid of my best friend. I watched her lean on Greg three weeks ago. She shared secrets with him that I was never privy to.

Grissom called Catherine from the lab that afternoon. He wanted to know why the ladies restroom was covered in blood. I didn't know why he would ask her that question. The telephone call was interrupted by a telephone call from Greg . . . Sara was sick; she needed to get the ER immediately. Greg drove her.

For the man that never jumped to conclusions, Grissom was quick to assume that Sara had attempted suicide. I was ashamed to admit that I thought that was the most plausible explanation. Sara had withdrawn from the world. She came to work, did her job, and retreated to the quiet of her home. Sara didn't call; Sara didn't even talk to me anymore. Warrick had asked me what was going on with her; he asked me like I should know. I was beginning to wonder if I ever really knew Sara.

It took me a year to realize that my flirting with her was something more than innocent. It took me just as long to figure out why I hated Hank. For as much as I liked to see her happy, I never liked to see her with another man.

I would have done anything to take back that night ten weeks ago. It wasn't my intention to get her drunk; it wasn't my intention to get drunk. Sometimes, comfort from a bottle came way too easily for the both of us. It got out of hand that night. I don't even clearly remember anything besides waking up alone in my bed. That wasn't out of the ordinary, but that night there was the distinct smell of her perfume on the pillows and a condom box on the nightstand. She wasn't there; three days later, I would find out about her DUI from Grissom. It was really none of his business; he just wanted to know why Sara was in my neighborhood when she lived twenty minutes in the opposite direction. I said that we had a few drinks together. Sara didn't know what it was like to be on the receiving end of Grissom's wrath; I was confined to the lab for two weeks, no field work. Sara was placed in counseling and forced to take two weeks off of work.

I would go over to see her after work. We never talked about that night. Instead, we watched movies or ate breakfast together. The comfort that I once felt in the benign relationship was gone. I was uncomfortable around her. I was terrified of my best friend.

She called me a week later. It was fifteen minutes before I was supposed to clock in for my shift. She said that she was pregnant. I asked if the baby was mine; I have no idea what compelled me to ask that. It was a completely inappropriate question. It put Sara on the defensive from the minute the conversation started. I called Grissom to tell him that I was sick; I needed to sleep . . . yeh, I must have the flu or something. Grissom told me to feel better. His words were sharp and uncaring. Something in Grissom had changed along with the change in Sara.

I stood on her doorstep. I spent five minutes deciding whether or not to ring the doorbell. She answered the door; red eyes and tear stained cheeks. I had no idea how to comfort her. I treated her like I was trying to prevent detonating a pipe bomb; I didn't know how handle this situation.

I held her as she cried. She cried for hours before she quieted and fell into sleep. I held her in my arms for hours before I carried her into her bedroom. I watched her sleep. It was hard to believe that such a slender physique contained my child . . . our child. She woke early in the morning; she asked if I wanted breakfast. I asked her if she wanted this child; she sobbed and collapsed into the comfort of her bed. All she could say was that every child should be wanted. I didn't understand at the time; it would be another week until Sara would open up to me about her parents, her foster parents, and the man that her parents welcomed into their home. I understood why she felt lost in the role of a pregnant woman; she never had a mother that loved her or a father that confirmed that her existence was welcomed.

I told her that it was her decision. In the light of things, I couldn't ask her to be someone that she wasn't. I told her to call me. She never called. I spent six weeks wondering what Sara had decided. She avoided me at work; she avoided everyone at work. Grissom let Sara work alone; it was the only way to protect everyone else from her. Sara became more and more dangerous. She took risks with her life; pipe bombs were only the beginning of it. Sara was at scenes alone; she took to confronting suspects without the protection of Brass or another officer. Grissom had commented that Sara was a time bomb ready to detonate. He did nothing to thwart her efforts.

Six weeks later when he was alerted to the blood by another female employee; he assumed that Sara had tried to kill herself. I didn't think the assumption was that far off. I didn't even think to doubt the assumption. Warrick, Catherine, and I were walking into the lab when Sara and Greg were leaving. She was extremely pale; she clung to Greg with every step they took. She swayed in his arms. Her mascara was running; she vomited on the asphalt in the parking lot. Greg explained that it wasn't what we thought. Sara showed us her wrists; it didn't make the case for suicide. I walked away. I didn't know what to say to her anymore.

Catherine came into the break room a few minutes after Warrick and I had retreated into the building. Catherine said that Sara just miscarried; Greg was going to take her home. I could feel my heart sink into my stomach. It took this to make Sara and me realize how much this baby was wanted. Warrick asked if anyone even knew that she was pregnant. He looked at me expecting me to have the answer; I denied my knowledge. I lied to them all straight faced. Grissom said it wasn't our right to gossip; he asked if we should send her a plant. I told him that a plant was probably the last thing she needed. He looked at me funny, but quickly dropped the subject. Grissom said that Sara would be taking a leave of absence.

A week later, I asked Greg how Sara was doing. He said that she was depressed; he had taken her to the doctor a few days ago. Greg said that Sara was taking a lot medications; he said that she never slept. I asked if he knew who the father was; I just wanted to gage his knowledge of the situation. He called me an ass; Greg said it was pretty obvious who the father was. Greg said that I should think about calling her. I got her telephone message; I wished that I could erase the last few months.

Calling Sara would mean that I would have to begin to grieve a child that I would never have. It would mean that this was a reality. It was easier for everyone to just assume that it was Greg's child. Greg was the only one to see Sara. Everyone else avoided the subject vehemently. If her name was brought up, the room quieted within seconds.

I stood in front of her door a few times. Each time I was too scared to ring the doorbell or knock on the door. I stood there frozen. Tonight, I said it would be different. I knocked on her door. I stood there for five minutes without any answer from inside. I pounded on the door. I called her cellphone. I could hear it ringing on the other side of the door. There was no movement inside of the apartment. It was so small that you could hear the smallest movement. I called her name; I pounded on the door. There was a new urgency to my mission.

All my noise woke he landlord. I tried to explain to him that Sara was really sick. I needed to make sure that she was okay. He opened her door for me. He went back to his apartment; he asked me to tell her to feel better.

She was lying on the couch. She was cold and pale. Sara was so much thinner than the last time I saw her. Her chest was barely moving. There was an empty bottle of whiskey lying on the floor beside the couch. I tried to shake her but her body was flaccid in my hands. Greg stood in the doorway asking what I did to Sara. This wasn't how he left her. He called for an ambulance; Greg pushed me away from her. He said that I don't get to be here for this; I had abandoned her so many weeks ago. He was right. I didn't know what I had until it was gone.


	3. Greg and Catherine's POV

Greg's POV:

Antidepressant toxicity and alcohol overdose is what her doctor said to me. He asked me if I thought that it was a suicide attempt. I didn't know what to say to him. I watched them pump her stomach and inject her with a myriad of drugs. The doctor asked if there was someone that could come and sit with me while we waited for Sara to wake up.

I hadn't intended to yell at Nick; I didn't mean to blame him for this. In this situation, there really wasn't anyone to blame. Sara told me bits and pieces about how the baby was conceived. I didn't blame either of them for being drunk; we all cope in different ways. There were nights that the truth was so disturbing that I sat on my deck with a bottle of whatever alcohol I had handy. The miscarriage was no one's fault. I felt bad that Sara didn't think she could tell us what was happening to her. It's been four years and she still cannot let herself be vulnerable in front of the people that have created a family around this lab.

I picked up the telephone. I was trying to think of who would understand. I called Catherine. As a mother, I thought she might have a better handle on what it might feel like to lose a child. She said that she was on her way. There was a distinct edge to her voice. It wasn't the disapproving edge that was normally there; it was more of the concerned mother edge. Catherine didn't let many people touch her, but when you did, Catherine fought for you like a bulldog. Catherine was intensely loyal.

"God, Sara," Catherine whispered as she walked into the small hospital room, "What did the doctor say?"

"Wait and see if she wakes up," I replied as Catherine sat in a chair next to me.

"Did you call anyone else?" Catherine asked as she began to survey Sara's condition.

"No, I didn't know if she would want anyone else to know," I replied. Sara was on a ventilator. The doctor said he was hopeful that it could be removed in a few hours.

"Grissom needs to know . . . Nick and Warrick should know," Catherine replied.

"Nick already knows," I replied. I felt angry again, but I wasn't sure why.

"Greg, what do you mean that Nick already knows?" Catherine asked as she set her cellphone in her lap.

"He found her; I told him that he didn't deserve to be here," I replied.

"He was the father, wasn't he?" Catherine asked as she shook her head.

"He abandoned her. Nick just needed to tell Sara that he would take her out to supper sometime. With Sara it's about the words you say and the words you don't say," I rambled.

"Greg, I don't follow," Catherine replied confused by my rambling.

"He just needed to grieve with her. She's been laying in her bed for three weeks. The only time she gets out of the bed is when I make breakfast for her. The antidepressants aren't working; Sara won't see a therapist. Sara thought that not only did he not want the baby, he also didn't want her," I replied.

"How did you manage to get yourself in the middle of this? You should have told me . . . you should have told Gris . . .," Catherine replied as she trailed off. She knew it wasn't wise to tell Grissom. Grissom had hurt her so badly, but I wasn't sure if he ever realized that. It was more than promotions and cases; his blows were directly to her self-esteem. He left her so broken that I didn't think anyone would ever be able to put her back together.

"I took her to the hospital without asking why. I sat with her in the examination room without asking why she needed to be there. She trusted me to come by every morning to make her breakfast or to take her to the doctor without judging her. She's not infallible like she wanted everyone to think. She gave me a key to her apartment . . . probably so I could find her if she did something stupid," I replied. In the back on my mind, I knew that this day was rapidly approaching. Sara's mental health had crumbled over the last three weeks. She called her mother. Her mother told her that what she did was stupid. Her mother said awful things to her about being single and pregnant. She didn't bother to comfort Sara. Sara said she didn't even know who else to turn to besides me. I couldn't believe that such an accomplished woman had no one waiting in the wings to help her if she fell.

"Stay with Sara. I'll go make some phone calls," Catherine said as she stood up and left the room.

Catherine's POV:

"Grissom, I have some bad news," I said as I tried to figure out the best way to break the news to him.

"Catherine, is it bad enough to wake me up this early in the afternoon," Grissom grumbled.

"Sara's in the hospital," I said quickly.

"What happened?" Grissom asked as he sighed. I knew how deeply he cared for Sara; I knew how much it hurt for him to see her flirt with Nick or cling to Greg.

"Antidepressant toxicity and alcohol poisoning. Gil, she's on a ventilator. The doctor isn't even sure if she will wake up again," I whispered. I couldn't let my emotions get the best of me. I knew I had to go back into that hospital room where Greg was waiting. Greg was at the apex of an emotional climax. I didn't want to be the one to put him over the edge.

"Is she at Desert Palm?" Grissom asked. I could hear rustling in the background; he must be getting ready to come here.

"Yeh, fourth floor. Gil, be kind to Greg; he's giving himself a hard enough time right now," I cautioned.

"Cath, I'll be there in fifteen minutes," Grissom replied as he hung up his phone. I dialed Warrick's cell phone number next. I wanted to get the two easiest calls out of the way first; I wasn't sure if I even could fathom how to break this to Nick.

"Brown," Warrick said. His voice was scratchy and his speech slightly garbled.

"Warrick, it's Catherine. Sara's in the hospital," I said. I knew I didn't need to beat around the bush with Warrick.

"What happened?" he asked.

"She overdosed on antidepressants and alcohol. Warrick, she's not doing good. If you want to say good-bye, now might be the time," I said.

"Which hospital," Warrick asked with a little yawn though he sounded markedly more awake.

"Desert Palm, fourth floor," I replied.

"I'll be there," Warrick replied. The line went dead. I sat there with the telephone to my ear for a few seconds. What do you say to a man that just lost a baby and now might lose a friend. I didn't have the answer. Sometimes, I'm glad that I don't need to break the bad news to families. I was always thankful that I was the one to be able to offer comfort and resolution in the form of interpreting evidence.

"Stokes," Nick said as he answered his phone. He sounded wide awake. He was probably at his townhouse expecting a telephone call.

"Nick, it's not looking good right now. You might want to come see Sara," I said. My voice was cracking . . . I normally could hold this type of stuff in, but this time it was so personal.

"Is she going to die?" he asked.

"It's a wait and see game right now, Nick. You know you could have told us about the baby. You didn't have to try to deal with this all alone," I said. I didn't mean for it to sound like a lecture.

"Catherine, where is she?" Nick replied. He couldn't even say her name.

"Sara's at Desert Palm on the fourth floor. Drive safe, Nick," I said.

"Yeh," Nick replied as he hung up his phone. I couldn't gage what he was feeling. Nick normally struggled to keep what he was feeling inside. Sometimes, I was glad that he was so emotional; it prevented him from doing the stupid things the rest of us did. I went home and cried; Sara went home and drank. Warrick went home and smoked a pack of cigarettes; God only knows what Grissom does.

I returned to Sara's room to wait.


	4. Grissom and Nick's POV

Grissom's POV:

Sara was always stoic; she never let people in. Sara had this brave face that she would put on whenever she was hurting; the only thing that gave her away were those huge brown eyes. Sometimes, I needed to look away when I saw the depths of her pain. I looked away far too many times; I wasn't there when she needed me. I wasn't sure if anyone was there when Sara began to crumble.

I watch her sleep, but it really isn't sleep. Coma. The electroencephalogram is encouraging everyone says, but then why isn't she awake. I began to wonder if encouraging was rhetoric; I was guessing it was the noncommittal answer given to quiet our questions.

Greg and I have been sitting silently in this room for well over six hours. This woman touched so many people in her life, but there are only two people waiting for her. I shouldn't be here waiting; I know I am part of her larger problem. I knew that she heard what I said in interrogation room; everything changed the next day. She couldn't look at me. Sara wouldn't talk to me. Working with her became extremely challenging. She stopped asking me out to breakfast; she began to join Warrick and Nick in their morning ritual. She shut me out. It was probably a wise decision; I didn't want to hurt her anymore. Every time she tried to touch me, I hurt her. Greg is the only one that really deserves to be here.

Nick watches from the window in the hallway. He hasn't come in to see her. Reality must be setting in; he lost a baby and there is a really good chance he will lose a friend. I cannot imagine the 'what ifs' that are running through his head. I know mine are intolerable, but his must be crippling.

Nick watches her without blinking.

We all let Sara down. I thought she needed space, but space was what destroyed her. I assumed that she tried to hurt herself, but my assumptions were as far off base as possible. I wanted to believe that there was a simple answer for Sara; I wanted to deny that she had problems that were consuming her life. I look back wondering how I did not see this coming.

I picked her up from the police station that night. She was picked up just a few blocks from Nick's townhouse. It was noon. I wondered what would keep her at his home so late into the morning. Her clothes were put together haphazardly; her hair was messed. I was blinded by the situation; Sara had turned to Nick for something that I couldn't give her. I didn't know that I was wrong until today. My two young CSIs turned to each other for the comfort and reassurance that I couldn't give them. Sara told me that it was none of my business; Sara had won the right to be disrespectful towards me . . . I never showed her that I respected her.

I watched her leave the team meetings to vomit. She would come back into the room like nothing happened. Doc said that Sara had begun vomiting during autopsies; he wanted to know what was going on. He asked me if Sara was pregnant. I scoffed that the question . . . who would get Sara pregnant is how I replied. I didn't see what was unfolding right before my eyes.

I made her roll up her sleeves when she returned from the hospital. I knew that if she tried to commit suicide, she would be placed on an emergency detention for 48 hours. I just wanted to be sure. She told me that she miscarried; I didn't say anything to her besides 'go home and get some rest.' I didn't offer condolences. I didn't ask if she was going to be okay. I called her daily, but I never made a true attempt to get in contact with her. Her problems were not visible from the lab.

I watch and I wait.

Nick's POV:

This all looks surreal. She looks like a china doll; her skin is a white that I've never seen before . . . it's a white that I don't think I could even describe. Her lips are parted by a plastic tube; her body is restrained by a dialysis machine and several IVs. Her eyes are closed; she's not even making an attempt to open them.

"Sara, please wake up so I can take you out to dinner sometime," I whisper as I watch her from the hallway. I'm not sure if I can go into her room. I'm not sure if I can handle watching her like this. If I was a good friend, I would be in there with her.

I danced around the flirtation for years. Sometimes my flirtation was with the intent to make something real of the sexual tension that Sara and I had let billow for years. Most of the time, I was satisfied that I had a friend that I could count on. It didn't realize that until after I was attacked by Nigel Crane. Sara let me move in with her temporarily. She let me sleep in her bed, while she slept on the couch. Sara didn't need to do that, but she said that she wanted to.

For a week, I told her secrets that I didn't think I could ever tell another person. She simply smiled and said that I was going to be alright; I was so much stronger than all the things that tried to destroy me. She didn't belittle me that way others did. My mom couldn't believe that I didn't notice that someone was living in my attic; my mom asked how I became a CSI, if overlooked all the evidence right in front of my face. It's hard to mess up when you have seven perfect siblings. I had messed up a lot in my life. Sara said that she admired the way I overlooked my own needs when it came to helping victims; Sara said she wished that she could care as much as I do. On the seventh day, I packed my things and moved out of Sara's apartment. I spent two weeks thinking of ways to go back to the safe haven she created. I called her in the middle of the night a few times because I thought I heard someone in the attic. She drove to my townhouse without question; Sara never accused me of being paranoid. She never told Grissom that I was terrified of the dark for weeks afterward.

Weeks ago, it was my turn to protect Sara from her demons. I never asked why rape cases were so hard on Sara; I always hoped that maybe she would tell me when the time was right. There were so few things I remembered from that night, but I remember feeling her lips against mine. There was something there; it was like a flash of electricity . . . the flames of a fire. The entire time, everything I ever wanted to feel was right in front of me.

I woke up in the afternoon to the smell of her perfume on the pillowcase next to me. I got up and looked for her. I looked for a note or something. I didn't wake up with regrets; the regrets would come later when I realized that one careless night might undo the best friendship I could ever ask for.

Did I love Sara? It was a question that I struggled with for three weeks. The lines of friendship and love were blurred. Loved her like a friend or a friendship with someone I loved. I should have taken her out to supper some night . . . I should have tried to figure out the syntax of our situation before it got so out of control.

Greg was right to yell at me. I only realized this now. I should have told Sara that she would be a great mother; I never should have placed the burden of all the decisions on her shoulders. I should have been the one to grieve with Sara; I should have grieved a child that would have been loved so intensely. I hadn't let myself grieve; I didn't know what I was missing. You can't miss what you don't know. I struggled with the guilt of not knowing for three weeks. I have nieces and nephews; I've watched them grow as I have watched myself starting to show the signs of aging, but that in no way is the equivalent to a child of my own.

For so long, I wanted a family of my own. I wanted a son or daughter to come home to. I replay the fantasy in my head every night; it's the one where Sara and I come home to a daughter after work. The fantasy didn't mend my character flaws; it didn't mend Sara's character flaws. I wanted everything to stay where it was thirteen weeks ago. The fantasy was so comfortable; every thing just seemed to fit. I wished that life would begin to emulate my dreams.

I stand frozen in the hallway of a hospital. Everything special about Sara is temporarily silenced by tubes and a ventilator. I wonder if her mind is in tact. Her mind is what sets her apart from everyone else on Earth; it's something that makes her special . . . her quick wit, the random knowledge that is stored in her cortex, the way that she can listen to me without psychoanalyzing, the way that she sings when she thinks nobody is around to hear her.

I wait. I know I might have to wait for days before I can ask her to go out to supper with me.


	5. Greg and Nick's POV

Greg's POV:

It's been two days; I've left my place in Sara's hospital room only a handful of times. The nurses bring me extra patient meal trays in hopes that I will eat something. I normally push the food around my plate. One of Sara's nurses, Gina, has taken to bringing me coffee and making sure that I have a blanket to cover up with when I drift into sleep. Gina says it's important to take care of myself; it's the only way that I can take care of Sara. I haven't been taking care of myself; I've been waiting. I put my entire life on hold to wait for Sara.

I never told Grissom that I wouldn't be at work. I think it was understood that someone should stay. Grissom didn't say anything to me; he never said anything when he was in this room. Nobody talked when they were in this room. This room was a mental confessional of sorts; it allowed me to reexamine everything leading up to today. It gave me a chance to think of all the 'should haves' and 'what ifs' that might have saved Sara.

Grissom stopped by after work. He would sit with Sara for a few hours in the morning. We always sat in silence. Once in a moment of weakness, he asked Sara to wake up. I had been asking Sara to wake up from the moment that I found her, but for Grissom to say it . . . I couldn't imagine what was going on in his head.

Warrick stopped by once. He was in the room briefly. He said that he couldn't see her like this; if something were to happen, Warrick didn't want to remember Sara like this. I understood. These past two days were etched in my memory; I was hoping for my happy ending . . . something to diminish the bad memories that had burned themselves into my cortex.

This morning, Nick asked me to leave the room for a while; he needed to talk to Sara. I wasn't sure if I should leave; I wondered what Sara would think if I wasn't there when she woke up. I watched him talk to her from the window in the hallway; I wasn't sure what he was saying, but I was pretty sure I knew the content of his words. He was touching her face; he pushed her hair away from her face. Nick held her hand . . . he kissed her fingers. I turned away when I saw the tears rolling down his cheeks. I couldn't see him like that; he had already lost so much. It was like watching your older brother fall from grace; Nick was everything that I wanted to be.

"Greg, I need to go . . . I need to go somewhere. You should stay with Sara," Nick said softly as he left the room. I stared awkwardly at the floor.

"Maybe you should stay," I replied.

"I don't think that I deserve to stay," Nick replied.

"I don't think it's about deserving anymore . . . maybe it's more about what's in Sara's best interest. I'm her friend, but I can't relate to any of this . . . I've never even had a serious relationship, let alone a child," I rambled, "You should be there when she wakes up. I think she would want that."

"How do you know?" Nick asked.

"I see the way that she looks at you. I saw that way she struggled to tell you what happened, but with Grissom and Catherine it was like nothing . . . I don't know why it took you two so long," I replied. I was still looking at the floor. It was amazing how blind two people could be. Everyone else knew the obvious facts they danced around. I wonder if they noticed that Grissom had stopped working with Sara . . . he barely worked with Nick. Grissom no long called him Nicky; it hurt him to watch. How could they miss that.

"But . . . I wasn't there. You did what I was supposed to," Nick rambled. I was still staring at my shoes. It was amazing how much you could learn about Sara in three weeks. I guess I had worn her down enough. She began to talk. She told me about her family . . . she told me about what she hoped for for her child. Sara just needed someone to talk to.

"There's still time . . . you have a second chance. The doctors are expecting her to wake up soon," I replied, "I need to go home . . . get my mail, get some sleep."

"Greg, you know. Has anyone ever told you . . ." Nick started, "Has anyone told you that you aren't that bad?"

"I didn't know that I was bad to begin with," I replied. I knew what he meant; it was probably one of the best compliments I could get from him. I walked down the halls of the hospital. The nurses asked where I was going; I told them I needed to go home. I told them that someone was with Sara; I just was helping him out for a few days . . . now, he would take over.

Nick's POV:

I watch her gag on the endotracheal tube. The noise scares the hell out of me. I'm not sure what to do besides hit the emergency call button, which sends a myriad doctors and nurses streaming into the room. I hear them yelling for medications; one of them pushes me out of the room. Monitors are beeping; it's a loud cacophonous chaotic scene.

I pace the hallway watching the chaos through the small window. I catch a brief glance of Sara's face. Her eyes are wide open; she looks terrified. I wonder if she is dying. I had been with her for only two hours; I wondered if I should call Greg. I wondered if he would know what to do.

I wondered how things got to this point.

"Sara is awake. Is her friend here?" one of the nurses asked.

"Greg . . . Greg needed to leave for a while. I'm Nick Stokes," I said, "I'm Sara's friend."

I wasn't sure if I was still entitled to the label friend. I was pretty sure that I wasn't, but I would have done anything to get back into the room . . . to be by her.

"Ms. Sidle is awake. We took out the breathing tube," the nurse explained. I was still pacing back and forth the width of the hallway.

"Is she okay? What just happened in there?" I asked. I couldn't stop pacing; although I willed my feet to stop.

"Just a mucus plug. She's okay. Keep Sara calm; she needs her rest," the nurse replied as she walked away. The nurses interacted with Greg so differently. They all called him 'sweetie'; they all doted on him endlessly. They treated me with so little regard.

I walked into her room. She was staring into space. There was absolutely no expression on her face.

"Sara," I said as I walked toward her bed. I wasn't exactly sure how she would react to me. The last time I saw her she was vomiting in the parking lot . . . hanging on Greg.

"Where's Greg?" she whispered; her voice was hoarse. It didn't sound like Sara; it barely sounded human.

"He went home for a little while," I replied. I tried to suppress all the questions I wanted to ask her; there would be time for that later.

"Did he find me? I didn't mean to drink that much; I just wanted to fall asleep. The painkillers weren't working, the antidepressants didn't do a thing, the sleeping pills only put me in a haze," Sara replied.

"He was there; Sara, I found you," I replied. I could still remember every second of that morning. I remembered how ashen her skin was; the way her eyes were partially open. I had so many nightmares; I relived those few minutes a million times in the last few days.

"I didn't mean for this to happen," Sara replied.

"I know you didn't. I wish you would have called someone . . . Greg . . . your doctor . . . me," I replied.

"I couldn't; I already bothered Greg enough. That afternoon I fought with him about going to a shrink. He threatened to tie me up and carry me there," Sara replied. She hadn't looked at me yet; I was just thankful that she was talking to me.

"He took good care of you," I replied.

"And this is how I repaid him," Sara replied. She was laying motionless; her movements were infrequent.

"Sara, I'm sorry I wasn't there. I'm sorry, Sara," I said. My chest was tight. I was trying so hard not to cry. She looked at me. I could see the tears in her brown eyes. She reached for my hand. She told me that it was okay to feel something; Sara said that no matter how many antidepressants she was prescribed, she still felt sad. I felt like someone tore my heart out three weeks ago.


	6. Sara's POV

Sara's POV:

I'm going home. I've been in the hospital for five days; I've been awake for three. Nick has been sitting by the side of my bed since I woke up. Our interaction was still uncomfortable. I heard him say something to Grissom about taking the vacation time that he had managed to stockpile over four years. I wasn't sure if Grissom was going to allow the lab to be down two CSIs. I was secretly hoping that Grissom wouldn't grant Nick the time off; I wanted so badly to be alone with my thoughts for a little while.

Greg came by every morning. I apologized to him. He said that it was okay; Greg said that it was really okay . . . it was a mistake. Greg kissed my cheek and told me to talk to the psychiatrist. Greg made me promise to start talking to the doctors. I honored my promise. The doctors spent hours with me; I hadn't realized how maladaptive my coping patterns were. The doctors started changing my medications; they were hopeful that I would start feeling 'normal' within the next few weeks.

Nick told me that I'm going home with him. I stupidly asked why I wasn't going home with Greg. Nick said that my only other option was to go home to my parents. I refused; I yelled at Grissom for calling them. I told him that he had no right to interfere in my life like that. Grissom calmly explained that their names were listed as my emergency contacts; I put their names down because I never thought something like this would happen. Grissom told me to feel better; he told me to call him when I thought I could back to work.

I called my mother. She was busy cooking for her guests; Dad was in the garage refinishing some of the antique furniture that they found during a recent vacation to Napa Valley. Mom said that I shouldn't be so stupid; Mom said that marriage comes before babies. I wondered who the hell she was to give such advice. Mom said that I would have to explain how stupid I was to Dad. I hung up the phone before any conversation could progress. I hoped that I wouldn't have to talk to her for a few months.

"Sara, how's my girl?" Greg joked. It was nine in the morning; he looked exhausted. He must have worked last night; I was pretty sure that he wasn't sleeping well when he did have the chance.

"Good, Greg. I'm going home today . . . well, I'm going to be held captive at Nick's house," I replied. Nick had gone to get coffee; I was free to express what I was thinking . . . momentarily.

"Well, it isn't a bad idea. I cleaned out your apartment," Greg replied as he sat down on the edge of my bed.

"What did you clean out?" I asked.

"You know . . . anything that could possibly interact with your medications," Greg replied as he held my hand.

"Oh. Did you pack any clothes for me to change into?" I asked.

"I found some stuff. Sara, it's okay . . . you'll look decent," Greg replied. I must have looked worried about his choice of clothes for me. He laughed. I didn't realize how good of a friend Greg was.

"I didn't mean . . . you know," I replied, "How's Warrick and Catherine? I haven't seen them since . . . a long time."

"Good. Picking up some extra cases; they wanted me to tell you to get better soon," Greg replied.

"I want to get better soon . . . I want to go back to work," I replied.

"Sara, I don't think I've ever told you how brave you are," Greg said. His eyes were locked on mine.

"I'm not brave," I whispered.

"Braver than anyone I know," Greg replied, "I'm going to go say hi to Gina. Get dressed, young lady."

Greg left the room. With him, I could momentarily forget all the pain I felt. There was a full-length mirror on the back of the door. Only in Vegas did the hospital rooms play into the vanity of the city. I looked at my body as I dressed. Everything was so flat. I didn't have the curves that other women had. I stared at my flat stomach . . . wishing that maybe there was a reason why it wouldn't be so flat. I wanted so badly to break down in tears, but today I was going home . . . today was supposed to be a happy day. I finished dressing. I combed my hair and brushed my teeth. I could hear Greg and Nick in the hallway.

I sat on the edge of my bed. The bed was no longer mine . . . I heard Greg say something about discharge papers. I was happy to be leaving. I was sick of people watching over me constantly. I needed some privacy; although, it was privacy that nearly killed me.

"Sar, you ready to go?" Greg asked as he stuck his head into my room.

"Yeh, ready as I'll ever be," I replied. Greg handed over my purse and my house keys, "Are you going to still come visit me?"

"You couldn't keep me away," Greg kidded. I felt horribly insecure. I was still uncomfortable around Nick; Greg had seen me at my worse . . . several times. It wasn't hard to be myself around Greg; it was harder to be true to myself when Nick was around. I felt like I was walking on eggshells.

We walked to the parking lot silently. Nick was carrying all my paperwork and a bag of medical equipment that I had been intimately familiar with. Greg occasionally checked me with his shoulder. I would push him back. Nick would tell Greg to behave himself. I was thankful that Greg was breaking the tension, but I could tell Nick was sick of games that Greg and I played. Greg told me to behave; he whispered in my ear that if I needed anything all I needed to do was call him. Nick loaded all my things into his SUV; he then proceeded to load me into his SUV despite my protests. I was much more capable than he wanted to let me be.

"We can go to your place first so you can pack some stuff, okay?" Nick asked. I almost laughed at how clumsy his sentence sounded, but my best judgment told me to be compliant. Maybe in a few days this interaction wouldn't feel so forced and foreign. While Nick watched over me, we didn't really talk about the baby or me. I don't even know what we talked about. I very well could have been mute for the last few days, but I talked to the psychiatrist and Greg until my jaw hurt. I don't know why I did that. I don't know why I couldn't talk to Nick; he was probably feeling the same things I was. Maybe I was just terrified of having to feel all those bad things again.

"Sara?" Nick asked. I wondered how long he thought I had been ignoring him; it wasn't purposeful . . . I was just lost in thought.

"Sorry, I was just thinking," I replied, "What did you ask?"

"I said that we are at your place," Nick replied. I was hoping that he would ask what I was thinking or what I was feeling, but he opened his door and began to walk towards the door to my apartment building.

I followed him. I opened up the door. My apartment was immaculate. I knew that wasn't the way that I left it; Greg must have spent a substantial amount of time cleaning. There was a card sitting on my kitchen counter; next to it was a small bouquet of sunflowers. I picked up the card; it was from Greg, Grissom, Catherine, and Warrick. There was another card that was from Hodges; I laughed . . . Hodges was the last person that I thought would care. Both cards had awkward condolences; without this experience, I wasn't sure what I would write on a card. I quickly sifted through my mail; most of it was garbage.

"Sara," Nick said. He stood behind me; his hands were on my hips. I wasn't sure if I was okay with the intimate gesture. I let myself lean back on to him. I just wanted to hear him say something; I wanted to know what he thought of me. I wanted to know if he thought I was a troubled slut, a friend, a coworker; I just wanted to know.

"Nick, let's not play this game. I'm too tired. We can't lie in limbo forever," I replied slightly irritated. I wasn't sure what I was mad at; I was probably mad at myself for letting a friendship fall by the wayside while I debated the importance of the life of another.

"Sara, I was just going to say that you smell good," Nick replied. I laughed at him; I wasn't sure if he addressed my statement.

"I smell like a hospital. Do you mind if I shower and change before we leave?" I asked, "Don't worry. Greg already 'Sara-proofed' my apartment."

"I wasn't worried. You said it was an accident; you haven't given me any reason to doubt you," Nick replied as he sat on my couch. He was so patient with me; sometimes, it made me feel like an awful person.

"Oh, I'll only be a few minutes," I said as I began walking towards my bedroom.

"If it was a girl, I would have wanted to name her Irene . . . after my grandmother. If it was a boy . . . I don't know. I can't think of any good boy names," Nick blurted out of no where. I walked back to the couch where he was sitting. There was almost of a void of expression. I sat next to him; I rehearsed baby names in my head for days following my miscarriage.

"I'm sorry, Nick," I said as I sat down. I rested my head on his shoulder; his hand was on my knee. I was shocked to see him cry; I'd never seen him get this emotional before. I told him that every day got a little easier; you can't miss what you don't know. He said something about it feeling right . . . that our baby . . . it just felt right. It did; everything about being pregnant felt right. It just took me a while to figure out how right it felt. I ran my fingers through his hair; I didn't expect him to look me in the eyes. I knew the guilt he was feeling; it wasn't much different than my own. The best we could do was sit together; quietly comforting our feelings . . . trying to figure out our next move.


	7. Nick's POV

Nick's POV:

I watch her sleep. Sara looks so beautiful in sleep. She's been staying with me for four days. I have ten more days off before I need to go back to work.

She's been sleeping on my pull-out couch. Sara wouldn't let me give up my bed for her; I knew she couldn't sleep there anyways. It would be too hard to be in that bed after . . . I still had a hard time with it. Most nights, she wakes up in a cold sweat. From the bedroom, I can hear her gasping for air. She says it's a form of post traumatic stress; Sara says it's something that she lived with throughout her twenties. Sara lets me hold her; most nights, I fall asleep next to her on the pull-out. I wake early in the morning with her in my arms; it's disorienting. I slide out of bed and return to my bed; I'm not sure how she would feel if I was still in bed with her come morning.

Sometimes, Sara talks endlessly. Some days, the only time she is quiet is when she listens to the police scanner to 'unwind.' I let her; it's good for her to have routine. We've gotten the routine down to a clinical science. In the morning, Sara goes to see her new therapist. I drive her and wait in the parking lot. She's asked me to come in once; her therapist said that it would be good if we tried 'couple's counseling.' I thought that might be premature; I had no idea if we were qualified to be a couple. I felt incredibly uncomfortable in her therapist's office; I didn't know what to say. The only therapy I ever had was alone; it was after Nigel.

Sara said that I sucked at talking; I didn't expect her to put it any differently. We talked occasionally, but for the most part, we were there when each other needed to vent. Sara cried; I couldn't imagine her crying before these last few days, but she cried when she was frustrated. Simple things would trigger an emotional response that I couldn't believe came out of Sara. The first time was when we were in the parking lot of the grocery store; there was this adorable three year-old. The toddler's hair was brown with unruly ringlets. Sara clung to me and cried. The mother asked if Sara was okay, I could barely manage the words 'we just lost a child.' The woman looked at us with such sympathy. The woman walked away with the kid in tow. It took nearly a half hour for Sara to quiet; we never went grocery shopping that afternoon.

I wasn't sure what my response was. Sometimes, I felt numb. I felt numb after I told my mother; I wasn't sure why I needed to tell her. I was sure that she would just give me a hard time about it. I wasn't prepared for her to be upset, but I wasn't sure if she was upset because she could have been a grandmother again or if it was because I wasn't married. My mother talked at me for nearly an hour. Other times, I flew into a fit of rage. Sara quickly learned to step lightly when I became frustrated. I dropped a glass on the kitchen floor, but I reacted like the world was going to end. Sara would tell me that it was okay; she asked me to go back on the anti-depressants. Sara was the only person that knew I needed anti-depressants after Nigel. Sara said that they might help me; she even made the appointment with my doctor for me. They had worked once . . . I hoped that they would help me to feel something other than anger and numbness.

Greg stopped by daily. He would bring us news about cases . . . dirt about our colleagues. He entertained Sara; Greg would let her beat him at Jeopardy every day. It was nice to have that break during the afternoon; it was nice to let someone else scrutinize what was happening in Sara's head.

Grissom stopped by once. He was careful not to set Sara off; he had been on the receiving end of her wrath about calling her parents. Grissom said he had never seen anything that frightening in his life; Sara was definitely a hurricane when she was mad. He took her on a walk in a nearby park; I wasn't invited. I didn't really want to be invited; I hated to watch him interact with Sara. There was a subtle friendliness that was just too friendly for my liking. Sara came back in a bad mood; she said that she was tired. That was enough to drive Grissom away. I didn't dare ask what he said to upset her, but she told me after he left. He told her that this relationship needed to end; we were both in breach of contract . . . no interoffice dating. Sara told him to stick his contract up his ass; Grissom looks the other way for Warrick and Catherine . . . why did this have to be different. Sara said he said the words that she waited for him to say for years . . . I want to change for you . . . I want to protect you from yourself. Sara said that it was too late for Grissom to change; Sara had already changed so drastically that he could never be more than a boss. I felt betrayed by Grissom; I hoped that Sara didn't change so much that I couldn't be a part of her life.

She's in my arms; it's four in the morning. It's time for me to plan my escape back to my bed for a few hours of fitful sleep. I gently move her off my arm.

"Nick, stay with me . . . I don't want you to go like you do every other morning," Sara replied. She was groggy. I didn't realize that Sara knew I left her every morning.

"Are you sure?" I asked. Her brown eyes were open. They looked different today; they didn't look as lost.

"Stay with me," Sara replied. Her voice was throaty; it was hoarse from crying only a few hours ago. She had another nightmare; Sara had nightmares about being raped. All the stress was reigniting the post-traumatic stress that she had grappled with for years. I pulled her back into my arms. She instantly relaxed against me; I wished that this is how we could have spent our first night together so many weeks ago.

"Does it still feel right?" Sara asked. I wasn't sure what she meant. I wasn't sure if she was asking about the fantasy or the reality, "Right now, does this still feel right?" She had become good at figuring out when she had confused me; I almost laughed at how she accommodated me.

"This feels right," I whispered. She rolled over to face me. She was crying; I wondered what I had said.

"Good because I can't think of a reason to leave," Sara replied. The tears silently rolled down her face. She kissed me; I don't remember if I kissed back. It was easy to get caught up in the moment with her. Her kiss was like electricity shooting through my body; I suddenly felt stupid for thinking that it was just a cliché. I was glad that she couldn't think of a reason to leave because I was beginning to be sure that I wouldn't know what to do if she left.


	8. Sara's POV

Sara's POV:

Some days, I cannot imagine being without him. He has been understanding and patient the entire week we have been staying together. He's witnessed several unexpected meltdowns; Nick has been able to handle them with so much more grace than I ever could. He listens to me babble at length about rape, post-traumatic stress, or jeopardy knowledge that I have accumulated over my years. Nick says I should think about lecturing to victims of violence; he says it might be a healthy outlet for all this anger I have inside of me. Nick reassures me that I have done great things with my life; he tells me this every day . . . someday I would like to believe it.

The sun is warm against my skin; the grass is slightly cool against my legs. I've been wanting to be outside; I've wanted so badly to escape from Nick's townhouse. There are too many things there that remind me of the baby; my therapist told me not to think of it as a baby . . . it was only a fetus. It was spoken like a woman that never felt what it was like to be pregnant; like a woman that never felt a real connection to a man. I'd like to think that part of me always cared for Nick; maybe that part of me always loved him. I think I did; I like to think I did because it makes all our time together more special.

Nick decided to surprise me by taking me on a picnic. He said that I deserved some time to relax; Nick said that I needed some fresh air. He arranged all this during my morning therapy session; I didn't expect him to remember what I liked on sandwiches or that I prefer Fritos over Doritos. He took me to a park near his townhouse. There were mothers there with their children. Today was the first day that I didn't feel angry at all those women for having children. I may have even felt a little hopeful that some day I might be taking a child to the park in the afternoon to play on the playground. I observed them quietly; it was easy to take in all the details of the children and how they behaved. None of what these children did really mattered; I knew my child would have uniqueness that could only be produced by science nerd genetics, but these children were so fascinating. I was fascinated with their honesty; they always told their mothers what they wanted to do. I was fascinated with their simple social structure; you play together or you play separately but along side each other. They didn't play the same games that adults do. They didn't play the games that Grissom did.

Grissom told me that he could change for me. A year ago, I would have done anything to hear that, but today, I didn't need him to try to save me. This time, I needed to save myself. I didn't want him to run to me out of pity; I could see the pity in his eyes when he talked to me. His hand wasn't sweaty when it was wrapped around mine; I knew Grissom had rehearsed his performance a million times. He was performing a soliloquy for my entertainment; I learned just a few weeks ago that love requires some degree of spontaneity. Grissom wouldn't ever understand that; I wondered if he ever knew love other than his mother's love. I had recently become an apt pupil.

I was amazed at how Nick could love without questioning. It was like he didn't think twice about giving his heart away, but for me I struggled to let people in like that. I admired Nick's ability to be so giving without asking for anything in return. He didn't expect me to help out around the house; he didn't expect me to comfort him in moments of weakness. Whenever I was there to help him, Nick let me know that he was eternally grateful that I was there being myself . . . letting him in. I knew I could trust him; I had such a hard time trusting after Hank. I had become suspicious of intentions, but Nick always made his clear . . . he just wanted me to be happy and feel safe. There wasn't sex; there wasn't pressure. For that, I was thankful.

"You're awfully quiet," Nick said. He was lying across the blanket watching the playground.

"Watching the kids play," I replied. I was sitting at the edge of the blanket with my knees curled up against my chest.

"Are you okay?"

"I think I'm going to be okay. Nick, I'm not mad at them anymore," I replied. I knew fully well that he had no idea what I was talking about; I was mad at a lot of things in life lately.

"I'm not mad at all those women for having babies," I clarified.

"That's good," Nick replied, "What's going on in your head right now?"

"Nothing. It's nice outside," I replied.

"I'm glad you finally took the time to relax," Nick replied he ran his fingers down my spine. It was such an intimate gesture. I appreciated that. I pulled off my sunglasses and turned to face Nick.

"Thank you . . . thank you for being here with me," I replied. That's all I had to say to make him smile; that was enough to make me happy. I just wanted to see Nick happy.

"Sara, I've always liked being around you. I knew about Hank . . . I knew about his reputation, but I didn't want to hurt you. The way you smiled at him; you looked happy . . . it was good for you to get away from Grissom," Nick rambled. I never knew that he was well aware of Hank's lying ways. I couldn't get mad at him; I didn't even suspect that Hank was lying to me.

"You could have told me this a few years ago . . . we wouldn't have wasted this much time," I replied.

"Everything that has happened to you, Sara; it's made you who you are. I wouldn't throw away that time because it has made you an amazing woman," Nick replied. He ran his hand along my jaw. I could feel myself blushing.

"What does that mean?" I asked coyly.

"I don't know; we take one day at a time. I'm confident that we can do this . . . Sara, our relationship isn't work . . . it's a lot easier than that," Nick replied.

"It isn't work," I replied as I kissed his hand . . . Nick sat up. He ran his fingers through my hair. I began wearing my hair wavy; Nick said that he liked it that way, it looked much more natural on me.

"Sara, stay with me . . . I've wanted to ask you that for two years," Nick said.

"I don't want to leave. What do we do about Grissom?" I asked.

"This isn't about Grissom. He doesn't matter; he doesn't get to decide," Nick replied. I felt like a naughty child sneaking behind my father's back; I wasn't sure if I could be in a relationship like Catherine and Warrick had. They always had to sneak around; I wanted to be outwardly happy without consequence.

He kissed me. I didn't want to move; I wish I could have just frozen this moment forever.


	9. Nick and Sara's POV

Nick's POV:

I can't take my eyes off of her; I know that she notices. I'm not paying attention to a word that Grissom is saying. I'll probably catch hell for that later. We've been back at work for three weeks; Sara's been sleeping in my bed for four weeks. We've been looking at large townhouses for the last two weeks. Sara says she's happy; I know that I am happy.

Grissom hasn't said a word about us living together. He hasn't said a word about how he caught us 'acting like teenagers' in the locker room before shift yesterday; I needed to hear about that from Catherine. Yesterday, I could barely keep my hands off Sara. One kiss led to another; we were both late for assignments yesterday. Catherine said to be wise, but she said that with a smile.

Sara's nightmares are becoming lass frequent; her therapy appointments are only twice a week. Sara doesn't cry as much anymore. She talks about wanting a family. She tells me these intimate things when we are lying in bed. Sara asks me to hold her; she lets me be the one to worry about trivial things, such as what Grissom thinks or what her parents think. I tell her these things don't matter. Everything that is important is in bed with me; it makes her smile. That's all that matters.

My mother asked if I wanted to marry Sara; I want so badly for her to have me for the rest of our lives. I don't think it's appropriate to ask this soon; we need more time to build our relationship. I have never felt this about another woman. I think about her all the time; I worry about her. I worry about her taking cases involving children; I told Grissom that the wounds are too fresh. He's been very accommodating.

It's hard to tell her that I love her. I'm so afraid that Sara isn't feeling the same things that I am. I'm terrified that maybe my feelings are unwanted. In a moment of weakness, I told Greg . . . I knew he would know what Sara was thinking. I knew that Sara told him most everything. He said that my concerns were unfounded; I just needed to look in her eyes to get my answers. Love was such a tricky thing; there was no guarantee that it would be returned.

"Nick, you and Warrick can take the DB at the Mirage. Sara, Catherine, and I will take the bank robbery," Grissom said as he slid a sheet of paper to me. Catherine whispered that she would make sure that Grissom behaved himself. I hoped that no one else heard that.

"Grissom, I'm not feeling well. Is it okay if I help Greg in the lab tonight?" Sara asked. She did look a little paler than normal. Sara woke up this afternoon complaining of just not feeling right; she said that her head was killing her. Sara swore to me that it was a migraine; she took her prescription medication and laid across the couch until we absolutely needed to leave for work.

"I need you out in the field," Grissom replied.

"I'm not feeling well," Sara challenged. Warrick and Catherine quickly left the room; I stood by Sara's side. She was shaking a little bit.

"I'm not going to let you two gang up on me like this," Grissom replied exasperated that he no longer possessed a hold on Sara. She could be defiant; Sara no longer had a reason to be compliant.

"Grissom, go easy on her. Sara hasn't been feeling well all afternoon," I said; I could barely recognize my own voice. I didn't normally stand up against Grissom; I used to think of him a role model.

Sara pulled away from me and left the room. I was about to follow her, but I could see Catherine just a few steps behind her.

"What changed so drastically that you feel the need to treat Sara like that? I thought you cared about her . . . or at least you did a few weeks ago." I asked. Warrick told me to go get some air, but I wanted to get this issue out in the open. I was sick of dancing around Grissom's anger.

"Let's stop right here," Grissom said.

"No, I want to know if Sara and I should start looking for a job elsewhere," I threatened.

"Nick, let's stop," Grissom replied.

"You can't control her anymore; you hurt her enough. If you really care about Sara, just let her go," I replied as I walked out the room leaving Grissom. Warrick followed close behind me.

"Man, you have to start being more careful about not letting issues from home follow you to work," Warrick cautioned.

"It's the issues at work that are starting to piss me off. I'm sick of watching Grissom try to manipulate her. I see the way he looks at her; I know why Sara and I never work together anymore," I ranted.

"Sara's going to have to be the one to tell him to back off," Warrick replied.

"What did Catherine do?" I asked.

"She said that she would leave the lab unless she was treated fairly," Warrick replied. Few people knew about their relationship; they hid it carefully. When they were exposed, Grissom began to punish Warrick. Warrick was sent to the most gruesome scenes. He was normally forced to work alone; it meant a ton of unwanted overtime. Meanwhile, Catherine always shared cases with Grissom. For as much as that man claimed to care for Sara and Catherine, he had a strange way of showing it.

"Did it work?" I asked.

"She hasn't received a good evaluation since then. We've been looking at leaving the lab; it would probably be good for us if we left the lab," Warrick replied. I didn't understand Grissom. I knew he wasn't a bad person, but I wondered if he ever knew how much pain he caused Sara and Catherine. I wondered if he realized that he was hurting them. A person can only be pushed away so many times before they move on.

"Sara's talked about it. She said that she never planned on staying in Vegas. We've talked about looking into the openings in Seattle or Phoenix," I replied.

"It would probably be good for Sara to get out of Vegas. It would probably be good if you guys started somewhere new with a clean slate," Warrick replied.

"Sara's not going anywhere any time soon," Catherine said as she came up to where we were standing in the hallway.

"What's wrong? Is it still her migraine?" I asked.

"Yeh. She's been throwing up; do you know what she takes for migraines?" Catherine asked as she leaned up against Warrick. I knew what Sara took for migraines . . . whiskey, beer, or brandy; those were her favorites.

"Sara took her prescription before we left," I replied, "I'll go talk to Greg about keeping an eye on her tonight."

I knew it was going to be a long night.

Sara's POV:

My throat hurts; it's been hard to keep this from Nick. I didn't want him to worry. He worries enough about me.

"Greg, can you do me a huge favor?" I asked.

"Whatever you need, Greg's your man," Greg replied trying to smile. Nick told me that Greg was going to keep an eye on me tonight. Nick snuck into the unisex bathroom before he left. He kissed me on the forehead; wiped the tears from my eyes. He told me to feel better. I said I would.

"I need you to run a blood sample," I replied.

"What case are you working on that you shouldn't be working on?" Greg asked eyeing me suspiciously.

"It's my blood sample. I'll need you to do the draw," I replied.

"I've never done that before," Greg replied looking concerned.

"It's easy," I said as I gathered the appropriate tools from my kit. I showed Greg how to tie the tourniquet. I was surprised that he was able to get blood the first time. I think I surprised him by throwing up when I saw the blood go into the vile. He asked if I was okay. I told him that I needed a hormone panel done as soon as possible.

I didn't feel pressured to have sex with Nick. He didn't pressure me to do anything besides talk. It just happened two weeks ago. We had gone out to a movie; we wanted to celebrate one of our last nights of freedom before going back to work. It was a horror movie . . . vampires and such. It was showing at the art house; it was a black and white film. Nick knew how much I loved those films. He held my hand the entire time. Something about the lack of special effects and the acting made these movies so much more genuine than the over commercialized films in the cinemas. We got home late. I kissed him good night like I always do, but that night I couldn't let go of him. Nick let me be the one to set the pace; he made sure that I knew he wasn't expecting anything. It was so nice to lay naked in his arms. It was so nice to hear someone tell me that I was beautiful.

I thought we had been careful.

Four days ago the nausea began. I knew Nick thought that something was up, but I wanted to be sure before I told him. Now, I just had to wait for the lab test.


	10. Nick and Grissom's POV

Nick's POV:

She's been quiet this morning. Sara keeps saying that it's only the flu, but she jumps every time her cell phone rings. Sara says that she's waiting to hear something about a case; Greg is supposed to call her. She reassures me that's she's okay. I'm not sure if I believe her.

Sara called me in the middle of her shift to let me know she was going home. Going home meant that she would be waiting at my townhouse when I got home. Sara said that Greg drove her home; she said that her Tahoe would be safe at the lab. I asked if she needed anything from the drug store; Sara said that she just needed to rest. I spent the rest of my shift wondering when and if I should call Sara to make sure that she was okay.

Grissom didn't say anything to me for the rest of the shift. He normally calls to check in; Grissom always wants to make sure that our cases are making forward progress. He called Warrick, but he never called me. I didn't know what to make of this. I wondered if it meant that I should be looking for another job or if Grissom just had a lot to think about. I wanted to apologize, but this time, I didn't have a reason to apologize. Someone needed to tell him that he needed to be more careful with the feelings of others. Feelings were such a foreign concept for Grissom.

I begin to pull off my clothes. I'm exhausted and ready for bed. Sara is in the bathroom still vomiting. She's been in there since I got home. She's pale and clammy. Sara says that she's going to be okay; she tells me to calm down. I brought her water and Tylenol, but she pushed the Tylenol away saying that there was no way that she could even keep it down. Even in sickness, she is beautiful.

I hear her talking on the phone. I hope it is Greg calling, so Sara can try to sleep without worrying about the case that she was working. I hear silence. I get up to make sure that she's okay. Her head is rested against the wall; she's barely moving. I wonder if she is sicker than she is letting on. Sara tries to smile as I fire off a million questions concerning how she is feeling.

"I'm not sick," Sara said. There were tears in her eyes, but there was this strange smile on her face. I didn't know what the hell it meant. I stood in the doorway waiting for Sara to collect her thoughts.

"Nick, I'm not sick," Sara said pausing for a moment, "I'm pregnant."

She sat still holding her breath waiting for me to say something. I wasn't sure exactly what to say.

"I guess we aren't that good at the safe sex stuff," I said. It was probably the most inept thing I could have said at the moment; Sara looked at me funny. I was pretty sure that she was debating whether to cry or throw something at me. I walked over to her and kneeled down. I kissed her forehead. I used a washcloth to wipe the sweat from her face.

"Have I ever told you that I love you?" I asked. Sara shook her head. "I've been meaning to tell you how much I love you. Sara, we're going to have a baby."

"So you're happy that we aren't good at the safe sex thing?" Sara asked still unsure what I was trying to get at.

"I love you, and I already love our baby. I'm glad that I used to play hooky during health class," I teased. She smiled, but the tears cascaded down her cheeks. "Don't cry. There's absolutely nothing to be sad about."

"I'm scared, Nick. What if I miscarry again?" Sara asked as she clung to me sobbing.

"I won't let that happen. We'll make sure you see a good doctor; I'll make sure that you relax. Just let me know what you need and I'll do it," I whispered as I held her. I ran my fingers through her hair. Her tears were wet against my skin.

"I love you, Sara," I said as I gently rocked her.

"I love you, too," Sara replied as she hugged me tighter. I kissed her cheek. I silently said a little prayer; _Please let this baby live . . . this baby will be loved more than any other._ I hoped that my prayer didn't fall upon deaf ears.

I helped Sara to bed. I rubbed her back until she fell asleep. She looked so peaceful. I prayed that she would get the rest she needed. I was so awake that I couldn't sleep despite my exhaustion. I spent hours watching Sara sleep; I spent hours dreaming of the life that we would give our child. I couldn't think of a better way to spend this time.

Grissom's POV:

"I need to talk to you," Sara says as she stands in the doorway. I'm not sure if I'm ready to confront her after what happened last night. I spent hours wondering how I managed to let myself hurt Sara. I rode five different rollercoasters to try to drown my sorrow, but there was nothing that could dull the realization that I did string Sara along without meaning to.

"Come in," I said as I looked up from the case file.

"Grissom, I don't think it is appropriate for me to be doing field work anymore," Sara said bluntly. I had to blink several times to make sure that it was actually Sara talking, not someone else.

"Sara, you've never turned down field work," I stated. I hope she understood that I wanted to know what was wrong. I didn't want to delve into her personal life; I didn't have a right to, but I wanted to know if Sara was okay. I knew Nick wouldn't tell me what he knew.

"I need to start making some changes," Sara said. She paused for a moment. She was trying to regain her poise.

"Sara, you can tell me," I prodded. My palms were sweaty; I could feel my heart pounding against my chest wall.

"Grissom, I'm pregnant. I have nausea constantly; I could easily compromise any scene that I'm working at. If I work in the lab, I need to make sure that I am protected from teratogens. I thought I could pick up some time in fingerprinting and trace . . . help out whoever is getting swamped," Sara said quickly. She had thought this out. I couldn't say no; I didn't want to be on the receiving end of her wrath or Nick's wrath.

"Do whatever you need to. Just make sure to let me know if you need time off," I replied. Sara smiled. I'm sure that she was expecting more resistance given the behavior that I had been displaying lately.

"Thank you, Grissom," Sara replied as she stood. I remember when she used to call me Gil; I liked the way it sounded coming from her lips. Sara was right; it was too late for me now. I had taken too long to figure out how I felt about her. I was thankful that it was Nick taking care of her rather than Hank. I knew he would take good care of her. I didn't realize that until last night; I knew Nicky would do everything in his power to protect her from any injustice that she might face. I was so proud of the man he became, but I was becoming more disappointed with the man that I was. It was hard to watch her move on; it meant that I would need to.

"Sara, I'm sorry. I had no right to . . . I had no right to treat you with so little respect. You're a good CSI; you're a good woman," I said. My words were so clumsy. "Make sure he takes good care of you."

Sara nodded as she left my office. I wished there was a way to turn off love; I wish there was a way to stop the butterflies I got when she said my name. I stood up and closed my office door; I turned on Mozart. I wanted to get lost in something other than loss. They would need to wait for their assignments tonight.

Nick's POV:

I can barely contain my excitement. I'm waiting for Sara in the locker room. She spent over an hour trying to figure out how she was going to explain to Grissom that she couldn't do field work. Sara had decided this for herself; she told me that she wanted to make sure that work didn't stress her out. She decided the fingerprinting and trace were the most that she would be doing. I never expected her to give up field work, but I knew certain things were more important than work. Sara and I recently figured that out.

"How'd it go?" I asked as Sara sat on the bench next to me. I pushed a stray piece of hair behind her ear. Sara smiled.

"Good, it went really good," Sara replied. She moved closer to me. I wrapped my arm around her. "So what do we say when people ask why I'm not working in the field anymore?"

"We tell them that there are things more important things than a job," I replied.

"What if I . . . ," Sara said trailing off; I knew what she was going to say.

"I thought you were going to let me worry about that? Sara, you're only job is to take care of yourself; everything else is my responsibility," I explained. She smiled. I was being honest; I did want everything else to be my responsibility. I was going to start looking at houses; I was going to make sure she was waited on hand and foot.

"Thank you," Sara whispered, "Only Greg knows."

"I still cannot believe you let him take your blood. There are how many hospitals in Vegas?" I teased as I helped her stand up. She started to try to explain her rationale. I kissed her; she pushed me away so she could continue her explanation. It didn't matter; it only mattered that we were having a baby. We walked into the break room. I didn't even notice that I was holding her hand.

"Where's Grissom?" Catherine asked as we walked into the room.

"We've been waiting for a half hour for assignments," Warrick complained as he worked on paperwork that he had successfully avoided until tonight.

"He's in his office; he might not be out for a while," Sara said as she sat down.

"What did you do to him?" Catherine said with a smile; she raised her eyebrows interested.

"I told him that I was pregnant," Sara replied barely able to contain her smile. It was the best moment that I could ask for. I couldn't believe that it was real. If it was a dream, I never wanted to wake up.


	11. Sara's POV

Sara's POV:

I spend a lot of time staring in the mirror. I've never been concerned about my appearance, but I am easily transfixed by my swollen stomach. I gently smooth my shirt over my stomach. I'm smiling. The tears are falling down my face, but I have never been so happy.

The house is bare. We've been living out of boxes for the last three weeks. Neither of us has had time to unpack. Our time has been spent going to doctor appointments and finalizing the marriage certificate and my name change. We've gone to Dallas, so I could meet his family. I'm not sure if they liked me; they made it very clear that they were not happy that we eloped in Vegas. I was glad we did; after three days with his family, I was glad to be returning home to our new house. I haven't talked to my family in months; they don't know about the pregnancy . . . they don't know about the marriage. I don't think they have the right to be apart of my happiness. I had come to accept that I was unwanted, but I also learned that you can still love something or someone that wasn't necessarily planned for. I wished my parents would learn that. A lot of things change in four months.

I'm thankful that things can change so quickly.

I can feel the baby moving. I know that we are having a baby boy; Nick flips between wanting to know and not wanting to know. It's an hourly struggle inside his mind; his indecisiveness makes me laugh. It makes him innocent; when he's fighting those internal struggles, I can see this childish side to his personality. I pray that our child gets that from his father; I want our child to stay innocent. I don't want him to live with the burdens that Nick and I faced at such a young age. I want to protect our child from everything bad that happens in the world, but I want out child to know that it is his parents' job to fight for those that have been hurt by the actions of others. I guess I want to raise an innocent, indecisive humanitarian. I'm not sure if those adjectives are suitable to precede that verb.

I spend most of the time praying for the health of our baby. No matter how many tests confirm that our child is healthy, I still feel as though they might be wrong. I worry about preterm labor even tough the obstetrician tells me that I am having the picture perfect pregnancy. I know Nick has the same worries; I occasionally hear him talking to my belly at night. He asks the baby to please stop making mommy throw up all the time; he asks the baby to be healthy and to keep mommy healthy. Those prayers bring me to tears. He tells our baby that he or she . . . he always says he or she . . . will be loved by so many people. He says that he or she will be loved more than any other. Nick is right; I've learned to love someone that I haven't even met. I've learned to let myself be vulnerable around Nick; I've learned to let him love me without questioning fidelity. I've learned that Nick will never hurt me like the others have.

I have learned so much so quickly.

I am thankful for my newfound wisdom.

Grissom asks about the baby; he asks if I am happy. I know it hurts him to know that I am happy. For the first time in my life, I know what it is like to be completely satisfied with my life. I have it all; I have a doting husband and a perfect pregnancy . . . despite the vomiting, bloating, and swelling. Nick tells me that I am glowing; Grissom tells me that I am beautiful. I tell myself that I look like a whale, but it's not what's on the outside that counts. It's the inside; it's my baby that makes being a whale a beautiful thing.

I've let Grissom feel the baby kick. He said that it was surreal. Grissom told me that I am truly blessed; I told him that he doesn't believe in the intangible. I heard him mutter that maybe that needs to change. I think Grissom is beginning to realize that there is some significance to being swept up in feelings and thoughts that have no tangible basis. These are the thoughts that cannot be fingerprinted and cannot be run in any of the computers in the lab. I think Grissom is beginning to see that there is something about the intangible that might free his soul. I know that I am feeling a freedom that I never knew existed.

Greg has officially named himself 'Uncle Greg.' I know Greg will make a great 'uncle' to our son. I know that I can count on him to be there for our child if Nick or I cannot. I know that Greg will do everything possible to keep my baby safe. Nick always shows Greg ultrasounds and stuff before anyone else is privy to the knowledge. Many times, Nick has credited Greg for pointing him in the right direction. I wonder what would have happened if Greg wasn't the one to take me to the hospital nearly a year ago; I am thankful that tragedy brought us all together. Tragedy could have easily done the opposite.

Warrick and Catherine are working in Seattle. They left for professional reasons; Grissom didn't come to work for a week after. Catherine said she needed a place where she could grow as a professional; Warrick said that he wanted to give Catherine the home life that Grissom's watchful eye always seemed to interfere with. They keep in contact with Nick and I; they are excited about my baby. They are even more excited about their own pregnancy. I'm glad they are happy, but I still miss them.

"I need to know . . . boy or girl," Nick said as he walked into the bedroom. I'm still inspecting the largeness of my belly in the mirror.

"You don't want to know," I tease.

"I don't . . . I do. Wait," Nick says frantically. He looks truly distressed over the decision he must make. He gently puts a finger over my lips to silence me.

"Have you started to think about names yet?" I asked. I knew he hadn't; he was grappling with the decision of what color the nursery should be. He would go to Home Depot every weekend, but come back only with a handful of paint swatches. There were easily forty pain swatches sitting on the kitchen counter.

"I don't know," Nick said. His forehead wrinkled; I kissed his cheek, "Should I be?"

"I've already thought of a few names," I replied. I scramble to think of girl's names because I know he will ask what I am thinking about.

"What do you like?" Nick asks.

"For a girl . . . I like Lydia, Gina, and Autumn. For a boy, I like Justin, Alexander, and Tomas," I reply. I hope he doesn't notice the slight pause I needed to take to think of girl's names.

"For a girl . . . Lily or Lydia. For a boy . . . Cole or Patrick," Nick says seriously.

"I like them," I replied. Nick was standing behind me. His arms around my waist; his hands were resting on my stomach. I can feel the baby immediately begin to swat at Nick's hand. Nick tells our baby to mind his mother. He's going to be a great father; he's already a great husband, friend, and lover.

"I want to know . . . Sara, tell me. I'm serious this time," Nick says. Something in his voice has changed; I do know that he is serious, but I wait for a minute. I wait for him to change his mind, but he asks me again to tell him.

"A boy . . . we're having a boy," I whisper. I can't stop smiling.

"I'm going to have a son," Nick whispered. I could feel his tears on my neck. I couldn't think of how my life could be any better, but I knew it would. I knew this would only get better. Unwanted circumstances had give way to something that I never imagined wanting, but I know it is something that I never want to give up.

FIN


End file.
